"There are plenty of ways that you can hurt a man
And bring him to the ground
You can beat him, you can cheat him
You can treat him bad and leave him when he's down"

"Another One Bites the Dust" - Queen

14 January 2000
Paris, France

Four houses in one night. Whoever had done this had put some serious planning into it all. Of that, Lebeau was certain. There was simply too much that had to go right - every time - for these raids to have all happened concurrently and by accident.

The detective sergeant studied his notebook and frowned. 51 Rue des Chênes, 14 Rue des Pavillons, 5 Square Saphir, and 9 Villa Hortense. Four houses, but two distinct sections of the city. All of the locations shared one common trait, however. They were storage houses for large sums of cash for the Milieu, the Parisian mafia, or various contingents of it. Each location had been attacked, its occupants incapitated, and all of its enormous store of cash - francs and Euros - taken. It was the incongruity of the attacks that befuddled Lebeau rather than the theft of the money, however.

In the two sites in the northern part of the city, at 51 Rue des Chênes and 14 Rue des Pavillons, the attacks had been almost clinical in nature. All of the inhabitants had been rendered unconscious, bound, and left for the authorities to find. In many cases, there were even small dossiers of evidence of some of the past crimes of the men stashed on their persons. There were no fingerprints to be found and the locks had been expertly picked. Everything was, for all intents, clean.

The two southern sites, 5 Square Saphir and 9 Villa Hortense, differed dramatically. While several men had been knocked out, three had been shot and one had been stabbed to death. Dossiers had been left behind, but only in a stack by the door. Fingerprints were everywhere and the doors had been kicked in. There were also franc and Euro notes left behind in both houses, as if the bandits had been in a rush. It was certainly a less professional looking job than the northern sites. Somehow, to Lebeau, at least, it had the same feel as the northern sites did. Someone had orchestrated them all.

But why?

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14 January 2000
Paris, France
Hotel Raphael

"Yes, Sather," said Ashton over the phone, "I want you to hold onto the rest of the money until I need it."

Sather clicked his tongue. "How much are we talking about here? Ten, twenty dollars?"

"More like €182,200,000. I already gave the ₣640,000,000 to the French mob for helping me out last night. I've set aside the other €100,000,000 for a party I'm planning and for other expenses. Just sit on it until I need it. I can't trust banks right now."

"Holy shit, Ashton. Where am I supposed to keep that kind of money?"

"Under your mattress, for all I care. Don't worry. I'll make it worth your time. There's twenty percent in it for you."

"Hell, I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about being alive at the end to spend it."

"We're all worried about that, Sather."

"Oh, alright, I'll do it. Where do I pick it up?"

"Dublin is already on his way to your apartment. You can meet him there."

"Goddammit. You're not making this easy for me."

"I never said I would. You've got to earn your percentage somehow." Ashton grinned into the receiver.

"I'm on my way now," said the Watcher.

"Thanks, Sather."

"You're a pain in the ass, Ashton." He hung up.

Ashton laughed and did the same. He put the call out of his mind. He had a long drive back to Sicily to make now.

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14 January 2000
Paris, France

"How did you find all of this cash?" asked Sather.

"It wasn't hard. All I had to do was change hats and accents and mingle with the mob for a day or two and I knew everything about them. The name Clément Caron carries a lot of weight in this town."

"Won't hitting those cash houses burn you in the future?"

"Not a bit," said Dublin. "We made it look like a rival gang did it."

"I've never seen this much money in my life."

Dublin chuckled. "You get used to it if you hang around David long enough. He can spend this in an afternoon."

"Someone like him, maybe, but this is more than I would hope to earn, or spend, in my lifetime," said Sather, dragging a duffle bag into a corner. "What am I going to do with all of this?"

"Go to the racetrack and bet on the grey mare?" Dublin grinned.

"And have that old man after me when I lose his money? No way."

"He'll only come after you if you lose. If you win, he'll split it with you."

Sather smirked. "I guess there's that, at least. I could always say the losses came out of my cut, too."

"You could say that if you're a chump. Depends on how much you lose."

Sather glared at the two dozen duffles stacked in his spare room. He shook his head. "What do you think he plans to do with all this money?"

Dublin let out a low laugh. "Knowing him, one of two things. Either create new identities with it or start up a new company and make even more money. Either way, he'll profit from it. He always does."

Sather looked up into the Irishman's eyes. "You make it sound like I should invest my cut in whatever venture he decides to start in the future."

Dublin put a hand on his hip, grinning. "I do. Every time. I'm one of his biggest investors in his stock trading company, in fact. He charges a hell of a service fee for the privilege - twenty-five percent - but it's worth every penny of it. I let his brokers handle all the day-to-day work and I make out like a bandit. I never have to worry about money."

Sather's eyes widened. "Wow! How much do you need to start trading with him?"

"He doesn't take small fish. You need twenty-five million dollars just to talk to him."

Sather looked at the duffles again and grinned. "Well, it looks like I've just come into the big time, then. He's giving me twenty percent of this just to hold onto it for him. That's something like thirty-six million euros."

"Looks like you're good to go, then. Once this mess is all over, you and he can talk business."

Sather smirked again. "I wonder how much of a conflict of interest there would be with a Watcher doing business with an Immortal."

"I'm sure it happens more often than you think," commented Dublin, laughing. "Just no one mentions it."

"Yeah, why would they? Especially if they're making big money from it."

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15 January 2000
Swansea, Wales

"Hello?" Robyn Radway yawned as she answered the phone, her mid-day nap interrupted by its jangling.

"Hi, Robyn. It's Nicola. Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah, but that's okay. I should be getting up anyway."

"Well, I've got something that might be more interesting than lounging around in your dorm."

"Really? What's that?"

"How's your passport?"

Radway furrowed her brow and sat up in bed. "It's current. Why?"

"I just sent a message asking for a leave of absence from the university."

"You did what? Why the hell did you do that?"

"Something better came up. I want you to join me."

"Join you? Where?"

"Sicily, for now. We'll be going somewhere else later. Listen, you need to cancel your classes and get on the next flight down here."

"Wha…? I can't do that, Nicola. I mean, I can cancel my classes, but I can't afford a last minute ticket to Sicily. That's way too expensive."

"Don't worry about that," soothed her friend. "You can put it on my credit card and repay me later. You'll make enough down here that it will be worth your while. You'll be able to start your studies again next term."

"Doing what?" she asked, curling her long hair around a finger.

"I'll need you to trust me on some things, Robyn. I can't tell you over the phone. I'll tell you everything once you're here. Right now, let me give you my card details."

"Okay, let me get a pen." Radway stood and crossed the room to her small desk. "Go ahead." She nodded to herself once she had copied the numbers. "Got it," she said.

"Alright, be sure to pack enough for several days, but not too much. Travel light, but be prepared, if you know what I mean."

"Kind of hard to be prepared without knowing what I'll be doing down there. It's going to take me a day or two to move out of the dorm, too. Do you mind if I use your card to put my stuff in storage while I'm away?"

"Sure. Do what you have to do. If we have to, we'll do a little shopping when you arrive. Okay?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay, Robyn. I'll see you soon."

"Thanks, Nicola. Goodbye."

"Bye."

Radway set down the phone and huffed. It was Saturday. The tenancy office preferred six weeks notice for anyone moving out. She didn't have that kind of time. She could start packing now and have everything in storage and ready to start dealing with the bureaucratic side of things Monday morning. There were plenty of other students looking for rooms this early in the term so finding someone to take over her lease shouldn't be an issue. With luck, she should be able to be clear by Wednesday or so. She hoped.